The Billionaire Bachelor

By Shawna Delacorte

When billionaire construction mogul Scott Blake is asked to participate in a charity bachelor auction, he wants no part in the games of the idle rich or social-climbing gold diggers that come with them. He’s traveled that road before. However, the beautiful socialite seeking his help won’t take no for an answer. Showing up at his office with a fiery determination and a heartfelt plea, she convinces him it's his duty to help with the plight of abused children and that he just might have her all wrong.

Due to dark secrets from her childhood, Katherine Fairchild is dedicated to the charity she founded to help abused children. As she introduces Scott to her world, he meets a homeless teenage boy who is fiercely loyal to Katherine and a darling little three-year-old girl, the most recent child in need of her help. He seems to fit right in, but can she trust him with her past…or with her heart?

Can the socialite win over the jaded billionaire?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509242375

Shawna Delacorte

Shawna Delacorte is from Los Angeles, California. It may sound a little weird, but she started her writing career as a photographer. While trying to market her photographs, she found that she had a better chance of having them published in magazines if they were accompanied by articles. So...she started writing. Non-fiction articles at first such as travel destination pieces, then she tried her hand at fiction. The result was twenty-one published novels with Harlequin Intrigue and Silhouette Desire. Over the last few months, Harlequin has reissued 13 of her backlist titles in ebook. Shawna loves to travel and has renewed her interest in photography. In some ways making the change from film to digital is like starting all over again. And that's just camera operation. Add to that all the computer graphics and effects that need to be mastered.

Book preview

Can the beautiful socialite convince

the jaded bachelor to look beyond newspaper

headlines to the woman she truly is?

Scott leaned back in his chair. You really think some woman is going to dig into her purse and pull out hard cash to go with me to some unknown place? What do you do if no one bids on me? A hint of a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Actually, Ms. Fairchild—"

If the Ms. bothers you that much, please feel free to call me Katherine.

He cocked his head as he coolly appraised her. "Or Kat? Isn’t that what the newspapers say?"

If that will make you happy, then please do. Her voice came across as solicitous without actually being condescending.

"As I was saying, Kat—he shot her a gleeful smirk—isn’t this closely akin to blatant sexism? Possibly even prostitution? You’re wanting me to sell my wares, so to speak, to the highest bidder?"

Praise for Shawna Delacorte

"Shawna Delacorte’s Who’s Been Sleeping In My Bed? has an intriguing plot and forthright characters."

~Romantic Times

~*~

"The Sedgwick Curse by Shawna Delacorte is a spine tingler from the very beginning. I spent a nail biting evening racing through the pages to a wonderfully, satisfying, aha ending. Lovers of romantic intrigue and suspense will be totally captivated by The Sedgwick Curse."

~CataRomance

~*~

"Stormbound with a Tycoon, Shawna Delacorte’s latest, sizzles with two hot characters and an interesting storyline."

~Romantic Times

~*~

"Rocky Road to Romance by Shawna Delacorte, One Scoop Or Two series from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. This book went by in a flash. I didn’t take my eyes off until I finished. I didn’t even notice the time pass by."

~NetGalley

The Billionaire Bachelor

by

Shawna Delacorte

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Billionaire Bachelor

COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Shawna Delacorte

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2022

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-4236-8

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4237-5

Published in the United States of America

Chapter One

Mr. Blake, that Miss Fairchild is in the outer office. She’s phoned three times this morning, and now she’s here in person. I told her you couldn’t see her without an appointment, but she said she’d wait—no matter how long it took.

Scott Blake reluctantly tore his gaze away from the panoramic view of San Francisco Bay out his office window. He swiveled around in his leather chair until he faced his secretary, Amelia Lambert. The expression on the prim older woman’s face showed her unhappiness with him…again.

She’s a very persistent woman, Mr. Blake. I truly believe she means to remain seated there until you’ve spoken with her. She has one of those electronic devices and seems to be reading a book. She’s obviously prepared to spend the day, if necessary.

A withering sigh of resignation escaped his lips as he picked up a letter from the corner of his desk. The letterhead belonged to the Coalition for the Prevention of Child Abuse, a worthwhile charity well respected for its efficient operation and good work. The letter was signed by Katherine Fairchild, the director of the fund-raising committee as well as chairman of the board.

Very well, Amelia. He loosened his tie, then his nimble fingers unfastened the top button of his shirt. He had never been able to get comfortable with the restrictive dress code of the boardroom, and that morning had been the annual Blake Construction board of director’s meeting. It had been five years since his father’s untimely death from a massive coronary with the reins of the company passing to him. And, at the age of thirty-four, Scott still disliked suits and ties.

He had worked summers on his father’s construction crews while attending the University of California at Berkeley where he graduated with a degree in environmental sciences and had planned a career in that field. As a child, he had wanted to be a forest ranger. Upon graduation, his father had talked him into remaining in the family business, allowing him to ramrod crews working outdoors in the fresh air rather than being confined to an office even though he carried the title of vice president.

Why couldn’t she just ask for a donation? He had followed his father’s long tradition of supporting various charitable organizations. I’d be happy to write her a check. But this… He waved the letter in the air, then swiveled his chair around until the breathtaking view of San Francisco Bay capped by the hills of Marin County once again came across his line of sight. Let’s get it over with. Send the officious Miss Fairchild in, but if she’s still here after ten minutes, buzz me. And Amelia… He turned his head toward her, flashed a mischievous grin, and winked. Let her cool her heels out there for another fifteen minutes before you send her in.

He scanned her letter again. Even the ultrafeminine handwriting of her signature rankled him. Everyone knew the Fairchild name—old-family money, seventh-generation San Francisco that put her family’s roots here during the gold rush days, the cream of society, on the boards of the most prestigious corporations and organizations. And the list went on—active in the arts, very influential in politics, major contributors to numerous charitable causes and civic projects. The newspaper constantly carried stories about Katherine Fairchild, Kat as her friends called her, the only granddaughter of doting patriarch RJ Fairchild. With three older brothers, she was the youngest of Edward Fairchild’s four children. Her mother had died when Katherine was ten, the death cloaked in a veil of secrecy and the hint of a hushed-up suicide.

In spite of his own wealthy status, he had never thought of himself—of his family—as part of that socially elite group. Women like Katherine Fairchild irritated him. He had personal experience with them—pampered, phony, shallow, self-centered, and vain. And now this. He stared at the letter referring to a bachelor auction to raise money for the charity. She actually wanted him to stand up on stage wearing a tuxedo and posing in front of an audience and the media. Then the members of the pampered rich bid money to buy an evening with him as if bidding on confiscated items at a police auction or making a purchase at an estate sale. It seemed more akin to a cruel game played by the frivolous socially elite than a legitimate charity fund-raiser. He did not like it, not one bit.

The buzz of the intercom interrupted his thoughts. Scott rose from his chair to greet his unwelcome visitor.

The news photos of Katherine Fairchild did not do her justice. She was far more beautiful in person than in any picture. Lustrous midnight black hair, perfectly coiffed in swirls piled high on her head with just a trace of coiled wisps along her cheeks, framed her finely sculpted features. He cynically wondered if plastic surgery played any part in producing that beautiful face. Intelligent, expressive turquoise eyes surrounded by the longest, darkest lashes he had ever seen. A radiant smile completed the picture. All in all, a very attractive package…very attractive.

Scott extended his hand as she approached his desk. Miss Fairchild? Scott Blake. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. His smooth masculine voice resonated across the desk. It seems we keep missing each other. What may I do for you?

Their hands clasped. To his surprise, she returned a firm, business handshake. A soft, sexy, low-throated feminine voice floated back at him. The substance of her words, however, did not fit her tone. "It’s Ms., not Miss, and we’ve hardly been missing each other. You’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t respond to my letter and have refused to take my six phone calls. You left me no option other than arriving unannounced and insisting on meeting with you."

He released her hand as he clenched his jaw and set his face in a hardened expression. So—she’s one of those pushy feminists, determined to prove herself the better man rather than being content to be the better woman, or more accurately, the better person. He had been called a chauvinist on more than one occasion and did not take exception to the intended insult, although by no stretch of any thought did he consider women to be lesser than men. He believed people should be accepted on their own merits as individuals rather than proving one sex superior to the other.

Won’t you have a seat—his voice took on an edge of irritation—"Ms. Fairchild?" He took delight in her apparent annoyance with his added emphasis to the Ms.

Katherine studied him for a moment. He stood probably six feet one inch with long legs and broad shoulders. His dark blond hair with sun-bleached streaks enhanced his deep tan. His alert, green eyes seemed to take in everything. He held her gaze without looking away or seeming to be embarrassed. While not the most handsome man she had ever seen, he certainly placed very close to the top of the list. She classified him as ruggedly handsome rather than classically handsome, the only flaw being a small scar on his chin. If she were the type to rate men based purely on looks, she would give him a solid nine-and-a-half, maybe nine-and-three-quarters, out of a perfect ten.

I’ll get right to my business since I assume your time is valuable. I know mine is. She noticed the almost minuscule narrowing of his eyes and a darkening of the color. He managed to keep any further indication of his irritation hidden. We want your participation in our charity fund-raiser the last Saturday in October. Your obligation would consist of putting together a date prize package, making yourself available at mutually agreed upon times for publicity photos and interviews, attending the auction, and going on the date with the lucky winner.

Scott leaned back in his chair. You really think some woman is going to dig into her purse and pull out hard cash to go with me to some unknown place? What do you do if no one bids on me? A hint of a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Actually, Ms. Fairchild—"

If the Ms. bothers you that much, please feel free to call me Katherine.

He cocked his head as he coolly appraised her. "Or Kat? Isn’t that what the newspapers say?"

If that will make you happy, then please do. Her voice came across as solicitous without actually being condescending.

As I was saying, Kat—he shot her a gleeful smirk—"isn’t this closely akin to blatant sexism? Possibly even prostitution? You’re wanting me to sell my wares, so to speak, to the highest bidder? Isn’t this the embodiment of everything you feminists so vehemently oppose?"

Katherine had encountered this attitude on many occasions. She easily fielded his intended verbal barbs. "Not at all. We certainly don’t expect or advocate that sex be part of your date package. I’m sure the women involved aren’t expecting to…shall we say, sample your favors. This is, after all, for charity. A quick rush of undaunted determination darted through her. And a very good one, too. She couldn’t hide her feelings about the plight of abused children or keep the strong emotion from seeping into her tone of voice. We protect children who desperately need our help. I’m sorry you find that frivolous."

She remained very poised and quite unflappable, despite Scott’s efforts to ruffle her composure. He watched her as she talked, her intense dedication to the cause never wavering. She had crossed her long legs, the hem of her suit skirt resting just above her knee. It went without saying that she dressed in expensive and probably custom-tailored clothes, but she also wore them well. Elegant and tasteful rather than flashy and the latest trend. He had a feeling she would look just as good in faded jeans and a sweatshirt. A sultriness surrounded her even though she made no attempt to behave in a provocative manner. She remained strictly business. Her hands rested casually in her lap, her long lacquered nails suggesting she never did any physical work.

As to your concerns that the ladies might feel they weren’t getting their money’s worth, let me assure you that none of them are being hurt financially. Those bidding at the auction can afford to do so with the prime focus being the fact that the money goes to the charity, money they would probably have donated without the auction.

If they would have donated the money anyway, then why have the auction?

The auction generates a huge amount of publicity, and that publicity results in even more donations for the charity while increasing the public’s awareness of the problem.

The buzzing intercom intruded on their conversation. He quickly grabbed the phone. Without waiting for Amelia to say anything, he spoke into the receiver. Not now.

He immediately returned his attention to Katherine. Who pays for the date? Is that considered my contribution to your charity?

It can be if you pay from your own pocket. If the money comes from your company, then you might choose to take it from your public relations or advertising budget. The name of Blake Construction will figure prominently in all our event publicity. Or you can list it on your taxes as either a personal donation or a company donation to charity.

So that’s how one of these auctions function. What happens if I agree to this, then for some reason can’t— He allowed a bit of a grin to tug at the corners of his mouth. —or don’t want to go on this date? At what point is my obligation to this project fulfilled?

Fair enough question. You provide the date package to the winner, and she can take someone else.

What does the date package need to consist of? Are there any parameters or budget requirements? To his surprise, the idea began to intrigue him.

They talked several minutes longer about the specific applications of the money raised and the various services and programs the charity provided. She handed him a brochure outlining the financial structure of the charity, the people involved, and the services provided.

He also found himself intrigued with Katherine Fairchild. He had instantly categorized her as a rich society woman who had never done a real day’s work in her life and probably never would, but the trappings of wealth and position could not hide her sincere dedication and involvement with abused children. Her face became very animated when she talked about the charity, and her eyes glowed with an unwavering devotion for her cause. He had to grudgingly admit to a growing admiration for her tenacity. Perhaps not the only thing he admired. She had great looking legs.

Let me think about this for a couple of days. I’ll call you with my answer.

That will be fine. Other than the already specified time for the auction and its requirements, we’ll do our best to schedule everything else at times convenient for you. We’ll try not to interfere with your business schedule. She blatantly looked him over, making no effort to hide the sparkle in her eyes or the slight curl at the corners of her mouth. Or your personal life.

She stood and extended her hand toward Scott. I hope you’ll accept our invitation. She flashed a dazzling smile as they shook hands. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. And who knows, you might even have a good time.

Scott quickly came out from behind his desk. Her handshake had been business firm, yet warm and inviting. She smelled good, too, some tantalizing fragrance he could